I hope you
know how proud I am and how much I love you. Always be safe.

Copyright
2018 by Brenda Kennedy

SMASHWORDS
EDITION

This is a
work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or
used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights
reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods,
without the prior written permission of the author, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain
noncommercial uses permitted by the author. For permission requests,
email the author at brendakennedy48@gmail.com.

Sophia
Moretti

I’ve been
abused by my husband, Lazzaro, for nearly the entire time of our
twenty-five years of marriage. When my eighteen-year-old daughter,
Isabella, saw my most recent injuries, she suggested we both leave my
abusive husband while I was still able. She feared I wouldn’t
survive the next beating.

After
deciding on a location that was nothing more than a speck on the map,
we packed up as much as our car would hold and left Nebraska for
Seashell Island. I knew starting over wouldn’t be easy, but maybe
island life could offer some peace and tranquility we both
desperately needed.

When we
arrived on the island, it was everything I dreamed of and everything
I needed. But I didn’t expect to meet a man who had the potential
to change my life.

Tony Romano

Since my
wife died of cancer several years ago, I’ve spent every day
mourning her and the loss of the life we had. Since then I’ve
focused my time and energy on my business, my son and his wife, and
my two granddaughters. But there was still something missing. I was
still missing my beloved Maria.

But when I
saw a battered woman and her daughter at the church, I knew I wanted
to help them. I didn’t know for sure what caused her injuries, but
my age and wisdom told me someone was responsible.

The more I
got to know Sophia, the more my attraction for her grew.

The only
problems were that I couldn’t let go of my deceased wife and
Sophia’s husband wasn’t ready to let go of her.

CAST OF
CHARACTERS

Sophia
Tarantino Moretti: Our candidate for a happily-after-ever

Tony
Romano: Beau’s father

Isabella
Moretti: Sophia and Lazzaro’s eighteen-year-old daughter

Lazzaro
Moretti: Sophia’s husband

Marco
Gallo: Lazzaro’s attorney

Beau
Romano: Tony’s son/ Carly’s husband

Carly
Stewart Romano: Grace’s daughter/ Beau’s wife

Myra:
Beau’s daughter from a previous marriage

Baby Maria:
Beau and Carly’s daughter

Parker
Blake: The island’s M.D., James’ son/ Sarah’s husband

Sarah
Stewart: Grace’s daughter and Parker’s wife

Larry, aka
Pap: Sarah and Carly’s grandfather

Sylvia, aka
Gram: Sarah and Carly’s grandmother

Grace:
Sarah and Carly’s mother/James’ wife

James:
Parker’s father/ Grace’s husband

PROLOGUE

My beautiful
daughter is the only good thing that came from my twenty-five years
of marriage to Lazzaro. He always drank heavily, but I’m not sure
when he became a drunk. Maybe he always was. Maybe it’s because of
my daughter that I turned a blind eye. When a woman becomes a mother,
she always wants what’s best for her children, but what a woman
thinks is best for her child isn’t always best.

For instance,
I thought it would be best to stay with Lazzaro. I thought it would
be best for Isabella to be raised with her mother and father. I also
thought she could have the benefits of a mother and a father and a
double-income family. But that wasn’t true.

Despite the
way Lazzaro treated me, I knew he would never treat our daughter that
way. He claimed to love us both. I wasn’t sure he loved me, but I
knew without a doubt that he loved Isabella. Sadly, because of my
decision to stay with Lazzaro for Isabella’s sake, she would also
suffer from my husband’s abuse. Not because he ever hit her, but
because he abused me. She saw my injuries, my pain, my fear.

I should have
left Lazzaro at the first sign of abuse. Isabella and I would have
struggled financially at times, but the emotional scars would never
have existed.

If it weren’t
for Isabella, I would still be there today. I never would have left
him. Partly out of fear that he would find me and hurt me and partly
out of fear that I couldn’t make it on my own. Where
would I go? Would he find me? Would he kill me if he did? Lazzaro
is a wealthy man, and he has the means of finding me if I did leave.

It isn’t
until this morning that I summon up the courage to do something about
the abuse. Well, it actually isn’t me with the courage, it’s
Isabella. She has a plan. And from the looks of her plan, I can tell
she’d put a lot of thought into it. This isn’t something she
decided at the last moment.

After Lazzaro
leaves for work this morning, I shower and dress as I do every day. I
clean up the mess and broken glass from last night’s rage,then
I plan to prepare a family dinner for Lazzaro, Isabella, and me,
during which I would pretend last night’s fury didn’t exist.

But Isabella
has other plans. “Oh, Momma. Why do you stay with him?” she asks
with sad eyes.

What can I
say? I stayed for you? I thought you would have a better life with
him in it?
I’ll never let her know that. I have no answer for my beloved
daughter. I lick my swollen lip and place the sunglasses on to cover
the bruised eye that makeup doesn’t conceal.

“Your father
just gets upset,” I lie. Why
do I make excuses for him? “It’s
not so bad.”

My daughter
spreads a paper map out on the kitchen table.

“If you
could choose any place in the world to go, where would it be, Momma?”

I’m not a
dreamer and never have been. Lazzaro has made sure of that. He’s
destroyed all of my hopes and dreams for a brighter tomorrow. But
Isabella is the dreamer in the family. She’s the one who thinks
world peace is at our fingertips.
Who am I to inhibit her fantasy?

Closing my
eyes, I let my mind go to a happy place. Closing my eyes, I think
about where my happy place would be. “Someplace warm.” I hear the
paper map crinkle. Feeling the sun on my face I say, “Somewhere on
the water. A beach perhaps, maybe an island.” I hear more
crinkling. “Someplace secluded.”
Just in case Lazzaro would try to find me.

When I open my
eyes, Isabella has her finger pointed to a place on the map. “I
have it.”

Smiling, I
ask, “What do you have?”

“How’s
Seashell Island sound?”

“It sounds
lovely,” I admit. “Is that a real place?” I lean forward and
raise my sunglasses to see the speck on the map. It
sounds too good to be true.

“It sure is.
It’s in the Carolinas. Have we ever been to the east coast?”

“No, I can’t
say we have.” I look at my beautiful daughter, who has olive skin
and black curly hair. “Is this where you want the family vacation
to be this year?”

“Momma,”
she says seriously. “That’s where I think we should go. Now.
Today. I think it’s time you leave Poppa.”

My little
dreamer. “And how would we get there? I’ll need money for us to
live on. Where would we live?”

“What if you
have everything you needed? Would you go then?”

“No,
Isabella. It’s not that easy.” I try to explain to my daughter
about adulting. “There’s things you have to take care of before
making such a significant move as that.”

“Momma,
please. I’m afraid for you. I’m scared what Poppa will do to you
the next time. Every time is worse than the time before. “Leave him
for me, Momma. Please.”

My daughter is
in fear for my life. She’s pleading with me to save myself. How
can I say no to that? How can I tell her no? The
SUV is in my name. Lazzaro and I have joint bank accounts with a
significant amount of money. I’m
entitled to half, right? We can live on that for a while. We wouldn’t
have the life we have now, but isn’t that the point?

“Isabella,
go pack just the necessities. Quickly.”

CHAPTER 1

SOPHIA

I could tell
my eighteen-year-old daughter had thought this through thoroughly.
She insisted we leave our cell phones behind and get two off-plan
phones from Walmart. She knew her father would be able to track us
through our cell phones.

We left with
just our clothes and important papers, including bank information,
passports, birth certificates, and the title to the car. Everything
else is just material things and it means nothing compared to the
value of a life. To think that this is what people work for is crazy.
In the end, it means nothing.

When I went
into the bank to withdraw half of the money, I made some lame excuse
that the money was for a surprise for Lazzaro, and I needed cash so
he wouldn’t be able to track the spending and I also wanted him to
be totally surprised. I was afraid the bank would call him about the
withdrawal and I needed something believable. Lazzaro is a valued
customer, and it would be a courtesy call even though the money is in
both of our names. Like most people, they believe the man is the
breadwinner and this is his
money.
That may be true, but I certainly have earned half of it. Me wanting
him to be surprised wasn’t a total lie; he’ll be surprised all
right when he comes home to find his wife and daughter have left him
and his wife took half of his money.

I hadn’t
thought this through completely, but when my daughter pleaded with me
to do this to save my life, I knew I had to make this work. I’m
scared Isabella is looking at this like a mini vacation instead of a
life-changing event in our lives. She’s only eighteen. What does
she know about life and living? She knows enough to know if I stay
with her father, I may not live to see another day.

Isabella sits
in the passenger seat as she searches through her wallet. “We can
live in a small furnished apartment, and I can get a job as a server
at a local diner to help pay the bills.”

My Isabella
should be going off to college, not working in some diner for tips.
This isn’t the life I had planned for her. This isn’t the life I
had planned for us. I have enough money, and if I can get a job
quickly, maybe I can afford to pay for her college. Living on an
island might not be the best option for us right now. It’ll be
expensive with a higher cost of living.

“Maybe we
should reconsider this plan?” I suggest.

“Why? Beach
life sounds like fun and Poppa would never think to look for us
there.”

She does make
a valid point. “Isabella, I know you’re young, but I’m not sure
we can afford living in such a tropical place.”

“I
understand, Momma.” She looks sad. “Let’s at least go and look
around. Then we’ll make a decision.”

“Okay, but
don’t get your hopes up too much.”

“Okay.”

It takes
nearly two days of driving with one overnight hotel stay to get to
Seashell Island. Just as the name sounds, it’s quaint and lovely
and not much larger than the speck on the map. Isabella is excited as
we drive down the quaint tree-lined street. Food and craft vendors
line the busy street. Quaint shops are painted in tropical colors
with white picket fences that line the other side of the street. The
shops’ doors are opened, inviting passersby to come in to browse.

“Wow, Momma,
look. Maybe we can open a shop.”

“Maybe,” I
murmur. And
do what? Neither of us has any real talent. My daughter can draw and
she’s amazing at it, but will that sell? I can refurbish wooden
furniture. I love doing that, but can I make enough to live on? Where
would we set up a shop? Could we even afford a space on this little
piece of paradise?

My daughter
watches but says nothing as I reach into my purse for the bottle of
Tylenol. My head has been hurting ever since my husband beat me. Then
the stress of leaving isn’t helping. Maybe it was easier to stay.

We drive
around the small quaint island with the windows down, feeling the sea
breeze blowing through the windows. As we get off the main path, we
drive through the more residential area. The homes aren’t as big as
I thought they would be. Not as many mansion-sized homes as there are
small cottages with flower window boxes, fruit trees, and picket
fences.

We hear gospel
music before we see the church. The windows and doors of the church
are open as an invitation to anyone who wants to come in. When’s
the last time I was at church? Has Isabella ever been to church? She
knows about God, she prays, but has she ever listened to a sermon?

“Momma, it’s
a sign. We should go inside.”

Remembering my
black eye, I push my sunglasses up higher on my nose.

It’s
Wednesday. Is this a sign?
“Honey, we can’t stay. This is a very small community and we’ll
never be accepted here. We’ll never fit in and I doubt we can
afford to live here.”

“How do you
know?”

“There’s
no job industry here. No large companies to employ people with
well-paying jobs.”

“I think we
should go in and pray on it.”

Of course she
does. I always told her if she has a problem she should pray on it. I
look at the sign and it says choir practice seven-eight followed by
Bible study. Welcoming God into our life never seems like a bad idea.
I look at the clock on the dashboard and it’s nearly eight o’clock
p.m.

“Okay, we’ll
stay for church, but then we need to leave to get off the island and
check into a hotel for the night.”

“Thanks,
Momma.”

I park in the
parking lot of the church and I’m worried that I’ll need to
remove my glasses once inside. What
will people think when they see my eye? They’ll know what happened.
They’ll judge my daughter and me. Do I dare tell a lie in the house
of the Lord if they ask me? Only if I want to chance imminent death
by lightning.

“Come on,
Momma. It’ll be all right.”

While walking
up to the church, I inhale the salty sea air. I could get used to
living here.

“It smells
good here, doesn’t it?”

“It sure
does, Isabella.”

The choir’s
still singing so we browse the bulletin board to waste time. That’s
when I see a sign for a two-bedroom furnished apartment. It says to
contact the preacher for details. It sounds perfect, but it doesn’t
list a price and I’m certain that’s no accident. On expensive
items, the price is rarely listed and that’s because they don’t
want to scare you away too quickly.

“Let’s ask
him after church.”

“Okay,
Isabella, but don’t get your hopes up.”

“I’m just
saying it must be a sign.”

“Maybe.”
My
daughter the dreamer.

We each take a
hymnal and a Bible from the table at the entrance of the church and
have a seat toward the back of the room. The choir sings beautifully
and although the sign outside said it was choir practice, I don’t
think they need it. After a few songs, several kids come running down
the hall to join their parents for Bible study. The church must offer
child care to the children for the parents in the choir. I didn’t
realize churches did that. Maybe because it’s a small island
church. As small as the island is, it’s probably the only church on
the island.

Just before
Bible study begins, the congregation is directed to greet their
neighbors. Isabella and I turn away from each other to greet the
people sitting beside us. The people in front and in back of us also
extend a warm welcome. When the Bible study begins, two preachers
take turns reading verses from the Bible and elaborating on the
meaning. I should be focusing my attention on the preachers and their
message, but instead my mind is focused on getting a place for
Isabella and me to live. I need someplace for my daughter and soon.
Staying in hotels is no way of living for my eighteen-year-old
daughter. I know staying with her father, my husband, isn’t the
right thing to do, but she still needs a place to call home.

As the sun
sets, it makes it difficult for me to see with my sunglasses on
inside the church. I hate to remove them in fear of what people will
think. What
will they say? They’ll know I was beaten and abused. Will they
judge me for it? Will they judge Isabella? I’ll soon find out.

While everyone
is focused on the scripture reading, I remove my sunglasses. Isabella
holds my hand tightly for support. I’m thankful when no one seems
to notice. Of course, I’m sure at the end of the evening they will
when we say our goodbyes. I’d like to slip out the back door now,
but Isabella wants us to talk to the preacher about the apartment.
Even if we can afford the apartment, maybe they won’t rent to us
because of my eye. People are funny when it comes to abuse. They’re
afraid to help. Afraid to get in the middle. Afraid the abuser will
retaliate. In this case, maybe they’ll fear Lazzaro will destroy
their rental property. Of course, they don’t know we’re on the
run from him and he has no idea where we are.

After church,
I get a few sympathetic glimpses. Isabella and I stay behind so we
can talk to the preacher in private. I approach the older gentleman,
thinking the property belongs to him.

“Hi,” I
stammer. “I’m Sophia Moretti and this is my daughter, Isabella.”

“Hi, Sophia
and Isabella. I’m Larry, one of the two preachers here on the
island. Welcome to our church.”

He doesn’t
seem to notice my eye or the swelling to my lip.
It is the only church on the island? “Thank
you. I was wondering if the apartment you posted for rent on the
bulletin board is still available?”

“The
apartment actually belongs to my granddaughter and her husband.” He
motions with his hand to the other preacher. “Are you looking to
make Seashell Island your home?”

It all
depends on the price.
“My daughter and I found the island on the map and would like to
make it our home.”

He has a
friendly smile. “Beau and Carly will be able to answer any of your
questions about the apartment.” When the young couple walks over to
us, he gives an informal introduction and then says, “I hope to see
you both in church on Sunday.”

“Thank you.
I hope so, too,” I say honestly. I watch as he walks away. I look
at Beau and Carly. Neither of them is staring at me judgmentally. “I
was asking Larry about the apartment posted on the bulletin board. Is
it by chance still available?”

“It is,”
Carly says with a smile. “It’s a small furnished apartment with
two bedrooms and two baths. No office or family room though.”

Isabella and I
aren’t looking for a lot of extra space. “May I ask how much it
is?” She tells me that it’s available now and that it’s right
over her bookstore on the main road. She explains that it’s not
directly on the ocean, but there is an ocean view from across the
busy street. Then she tells me the price of the apartment. I want to
ask her if that’s the right amount. I look over at Isabella and I
can see the excitement in her eyes. There must be something wrong
with the apartment for it to be priced below what I would assume to
be market value. I’m not sure what the market value is here, but
this doesn’t sound right. “I know it’s getting late but would
we be able to see it tonight?”

Carly looks at
me with sympathetic eyes. “Are you running from someone?”

Once she
learns the truth she won’t want to rent to us. She won’t want in
the middle of my problems. But I’m in church and can’t lie to
these people. I touch my eye then my still swollen lip gently. “My
husband. He doesn’t know where we are.”

Carly says,
“Beau, will you see if Gram and Pap will take the kids home with
them while we show the apartment to Sophia and Isabella?”

“I’ll be
right back,” he says, walking away.

I say to
Carly, “Thank you.”

“You’re
welcome. The apartment sat empty for a long while so if you decide to
rent it, it’ll need a good cleaning, I’m afraid.”

“I can live
with that.” I begin to get hopeful. She doesn’t look like the
kind of person to live in a slum dwelling, so maybe the apartment is
nicer than I’m expecting. I want to know why she isn’t renting it
for more than she is. Maybe it’s because it’s all it’s worth.
She and Beau have children so the apartment must have been vacant for
a while. “You haven’t lived there for a while?”

“Beau and I
have been married for three years and the apartment just sat empty.
We started using it for storage but Beau can move the boxes down to
the bookstore if you decide to take it.”

He comes back
and says, “They’re taking the kids home with them now.”

“Good.”
Carly takes his arm. “Do you want to ride with us or would you
rather follow us there?”

“We’ll
follow you there, if that’s okay?”

We park the
car in back of the alley and walk up the steps of the pale-yellow
building.It’s
spacious for a two-bedroom apartment.

“Momma,
look,” Isabella says as she steps out onto the balcony.

Beau says,
“It’s not directly on the water, but the view is remarkable.”

I walk out the
French doors to the balcony. Although it’s dark, you can smell the
salty sea air and see the reflection of the moon on the ocean.

“Can we live
here, Momma?” Isabella pleads.

“Let me talk
to them for a minute.”

“Okay.”

I walk back
inside and Beau and Carly are standing in the middle of the living
room talking.

“Like I said
before, if you decide to take it, it’ll need a good cleaning and
some of the storage boxes we’ll need to move out.”

“May I ask
why you’re asking so little for the apartment?” How
do I ask if there’s a rodent problem, mildew problem, or other
problems? That would be rude. Maybe it’s a high crime area? I doubt
that. It’s too far out in the middle of nowhere.

“I’m not
sure we’re asking a low price,” Beau says. “People who relocate
to the island aren’t looking for an apartment.”

Carly says, “I
bought the building when I moved here a few years ago. I remodeled
the bookstore and the apartment where I lived until Beau and I
married. We did have a few people look at it over the last few years
but no one wanted it. Maybe they didn’t like the back entrance to
the alley. Or the fact that it’s not directly on the water. Maybe
it’s the hustle and bustle of the street below. Or the steps
leading up to it. It could have been a number of reasons why they
didn’t rent it, but I loved living here.”

They seem like
honest people. “How long is the lease?”

Carly looks up
at Beau. “Oh, we never discussed that.”

Beau says,
“Are you looking for someplace to rent by the month or year?”

Isabella walks
in from the balcony. I know I need her to be in a stable home. Can I
make an apartment feel like her home? I think I can but a house would
be a better option for long term. “Monthly, I think. Maybe we’ll
decide to buy a house and live here permanently. Or maybe this will
work out great and this is all we’ll need. Honestly, I’m not sure
what the future holds for us.”

“Monthly’s
fine. We’ll just be happy to have someone living here.”

“Great.
We’ll take it,” I say.

Carly looks at
my bruised eye. “Are you wanting to move in tonight?”

“It’s too
late, isn’t it?” I look at Isabella. “We can stay in a hotel
tonight.”

“It is
getting late,” Carly says, looking at her watch. “How about you
stay here tonight, and tomorrow you can sign the lease and pay the
rent then?”

Isabella claps
with excitement.

“It sounds
great. Thank you.”

I hand Beau my
driver’s license so he knows that I am who I say I am. He writes
down my name, address, and my license number on a notebook he pulled
from the kitchen drawer. Carly walks with me around the house and
shows me the linen closet where the sheets and towels are stored.
There’s even some cleaning supplies in there. In the laundry room
are some lawn chairs, beach towels, and a fishing pole. She also
shows me in the kitchen where the dishes and pots and pans are kept.

“Honestly,”
she says, smiling. “All you need is your clothes, food, and some
cleaning supplies.”

“Carly,
thank you.”

“It’s
okay.” She points to another door in the apartment. “This door
opens to the bookstore. It locks on both sides so you won’t have to
worry about someone coming in.” She pauses briefly. “I guess we
could remove the door and add a wall using sheetrock if this bothers
you.”

“Sounds like
this is a good place for you both.” She closes the laundry room
door as Beau finishes up with my driver’s license. “Beau’s dad,
Tony, owns the only market on the island. You’ll be able to find
everything you need there. My brother-in-law has his medical practice
a few doors down, and my mother owns the candle and craft shop
nearby.”

Carly has a
way of making you feel welcome. “A family affair, I see.”

“It is.
We’re very close.”

“What time
do the vendors open?” Isabella asks.

“Are you
looking for anything specific?” Carly asks.

“No. I just
want to see what they sell.”

“The vendors
are awesome. They should be opened at ten o’clock for most of the
shops. People on the island are a bitlaid-back.
They kind of do their own thing as you’ll see soon enough.”

Beau stands
and hands me back my driver’s license. “If you need anything, I
wrote down our phone number and address for you. Please feel free to
call for any reason. We have a large family and someone can be here
within a few minutes.”

“Before we
leave, do you need help with anything from your car?” Beau asks.

“Thank you,
but Isabella and I can manage.”

Before they
leave. Beau starts carrying down a few of the storage boxes to the
bookstore. When that’s done I walk them to the back door and we say
our goodbyes. “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” Beau says, walking
behind his wife down the stairs.

“Thank you
again,” I say, closing the door behind them and securing both
locks.

I turn around
and my daughter hugs me. “We did it. I knew this place was a sign
of greater things for us.”

“You were
right.” I hug her tightly. There’s still no significant jobs here
and the next big city is nearly an hour away. I won’t burden her
any more with my problems.

Isabella and I
quickly unload the car and begin unpacking. I’m happy to see when
she sets up her drawing easel, sketch pencils, and paper. She
carefully folds her clothes and places them in the drawers in her
room.

“How about
tomorrow we go shopping and buy you some things for your bedroom?”

“It has
everything I need.”

“Wouldn’t
you like something different on the walls?”

“No, not
yet,” she says. “I think we need to get groceries and see what
the vendors are selling.”

“Are you
hungry?” I feel bad. We haven’t eaten since before church when we
stopped in Charlotte for an early dinner. From the looks of it, the
island closes down at dark. I hope it’s not every day of the week.

“No, I’m
not.” It’s mostly the truth. As a mother I’ll always worry, but
I have a good feeling about this place.

“Good.”
It’ll all work out, Momma, you’ll see.”

Once the beds
have clean linens and blankets, we turn in for the night. My mind
races with what I still need to do. I need to find a bank and deposit
the money I withdrew from Lazzaro’s and my bank account and I’ll
need a checking account. I’ll need to transfer the utilities into
my name and find a job. Although I have enough to not worry for a
while, I don’t want to deplete everything we have. A financial
cushion will be nice to have. Isabella and I won’t be living the
extravagant life we once had, but this will be a good lesson for us
both to learn. Or maybe we already learned it. Money doesn’t buy
happiness.

~~~

The next
morning we’re both up early. Isabella’s cleaning the bathroom
with cleaning supplies she found in the bathroom linen closet. I
thought they might be expired but she thought it would be better than
nothing since that’s all we had.

We both shower
and begin the day with breakfast at a local diner. We walk the quiet
street browsing as the vendors and shop owners prepare for a busy
day. According to Carly, the businesses aren’t due to open for
another hour.

Thankful for a
sunny day, I’m able to wear my sunglasses without looking out of
place.

After a
leisurely breakfast, Isabella and I walk to the market to get
much-needed groceries. We walk in and see a man and a young child
stocking canned goods on the shelves.

“Hello,
vacationers,” he says in a loud Italian accent.

We’re not
vacationers, but I do like the way it sounds. “Hi, are you open?”

“Oh, yes,
please come in. Cookie and I are just stocking the shelves.” I
watch as the little girl wearing a pink tutu places the last of the
cans on the bottom shelf.

The store is
bright with natural light, so I decide to leave my sunglasses on.

Cookie? Cute
nickname. At least I hope it’s a nickname. To my surprise, the
market is bigger than I expected. It also sells hot meals for
breakfast and lunch, and even sells picnic lunches with wine. There’s
even a few tables and chairs inside the market to eat or I guess for
people to sit and wait while their significant others do the
shopping. Smart idea putting those tables and chairs inside the
store.

“All done,
grandpa,” she says before taking off running behind the counter.

He stands and
wipes his hands off on his white apron. “That was my granddaughter
Myra. I’m Tony Romano, owner and operator of this fine
establishment.” He extends his hand with a smile.

“It’s nice
to meet you.” I shake his hand. “I’m Sophia and this is my
daughter, Isabella.” I vaguely remember him from church last night.
I also remember that Beau said his father owned the market. “Does
your daughter-in-law own the book store across the street?”

“Yes, that’s
my Shorty.”

Shorty?
Does he give everyone a nickname?
“We’re renting the apartment over the shop.”

“Oh, yes.
Beauregard called me last night to give me a heads-up that someone
was living there.”

I’m
confused. Why would Beau need to call his dad?

“I also live
upstairs,” he says with a movement of his head, “and I guess he
didn’t want me to be alarmed when I saw someone in the apartment.”

I
understand now.

“Looks like
we’re neighbors.” He looks around the market before focusing his
attention on the little girl in the room behind the register. “I’ve
kept you both long enough, I should let you get to your grocery
shopping. If you need directions or recommendations, you know where
to find me.”

“Thank you.
We appreciate that.”

We walk away
from him and Isabella says, “He seems nice.”

“He does.”
I agree.

“I like it
here.”

I look at my
daughter and smile. The island does have a good feel to it and
everyone is so nice here. “I do, too.”

Isabella and I
shop for groceries, drinks, cleaning supplies, and hygiene items. The
cart is already nearly full and we’re not even finished yet.

“Momma, I
think we should have driven over here.”

I look at the
overflowing grocery cart. “I think you’re right. We’ll just
have to make several trips back to the apartment.”

“Momma,
maybe we can get a grill and cook out.”

“That would
be nice, but I doubt that’ll be allowed on the small balcony.”

“I wonder if
they have grills on the beach?”

“Maybe. We
can look today.”

“I have a
good feeling about this place,” Isabella says, dreamily.

I hope
she’s right.

At the
checkout counter, I see the little girl in a small room behind the
register. She’s dancing and singing to the child’s song on the
television. “Is that Carly and Beau’s daughter?” I ask.

“It is. Her
little sister, Maria, is back there, too,” Tony laughs, popping his
head into the room. “She’s still sleeping in the baby bed.” I
find it strange that he has his grandchildren in a back room while he
works. I guess island life is more laid-back and relaxed than I
thought. “Have you ever heard the saying that it takes a village to
raise a child?”

“Yes, I sure
have.”

“Welcome to
our village.” We both laugh and even Isabella got the joke. He
takes a few steps closer to the register. “Do you want to set up a
house credit account today?”

House
credit?
“What’s that?”

“Where are
you from?” he asks.

I decide to
not tell him exactly. “From the Upper Midwest region,” I offer.

“Ah, I see.
Well, to answer your question, store credit is credit you can use
only at this market. It’s a courtesy I offer to the locals.” Is
he considering us locals? “I don’t charge interest, but payment
is due in full on the first of every month.”

“I think
I’ll just pay cash, but that’s nice of you to offer store credit
to the locals.” I
like the way that sounds. Isabella and I are locals. I actually feel
like maybe we’ll fit in here.

His laugh is
as strong as his voice. “It wasn’t exactly my idea. When the
locals started shopping for their weekly groceries and leaving their
money at home, I was left with two choices. Either restock their
groceries, which I didn’t want to do, or let them have it on
credit. The credit was the best option for everyone.”

I can
definitely see his point. “You seem like a smart man, Mr. Romano.”

“Call me
Tony. Mr. Romano was my… kind of think of it, I can’t recall a
time when any man in my family was called Mr.”

“Tony.”

After the
groceries are paid for, Tony asks, “Are you finding everything
okay?” When I look at the cart full of groceries, he says, “I
mean on the island.”

“Everything
but a bank,” I admit.

“Like the
church, we have only one. It’s on the corner of Pelican Way and Sea
Glass Drive.”

“And that
would be?”

He laughs
again. He sure is carefree and relaxed. “On the next street over.
If you turn left, it’ll take you to the beach. You’ll want to
make a right at the street sign.”

“Gotcha,”
I say with a genuine smile.

After the
groceries are paid for, Isabella and I use the grocery cart to haul
the groceries to the apartment. Once inside, we walk around the
apartment opening windows and the French doors leading to the
balcony. I watch as my beautiful daughter inhales the salty sea air.

“I think we
should ride around the island today and get familiar with it,”
Isabella says.

Of course she
does. “I
think
we should scrub down the apartment, make pasta for dinner, and
sightsee tomorrow.” I still need to get to the bank, and we also
need to sign the lease and pay for the apartment.

“First
things first,” she says as she starts to remove the food from the
grocery bags. As we start putting the groceries away, the apartment
begins to feel more like home. “Momma, we need some candles. You
always had candles burning at the house.”

She’s right,
we did. Will candles help make the transition easier for her? Will it
make it feel more like home to her? “Carly said her mom owns the
candle and craft store a few buildings down. Why don’t you run down
there and get us some?”

“Okay. It
there any scent you want?” she asks.

“Buy
whatever you like the best.”

I hand her the
money and watch as she walks out the door.

I have the
groceries put away before she gets back to the apartment. The sea
breeze is blowing through the French doors, making the sheer curtains
wave in the wind. Deciding the cleaning can wait, I walk over and sit
in one of the white chairs on the balcony. The small island is
bustling with beachgoers, locals, and tourists. I laugh to myself as
I can already tell the locals from the tourists. The tourists are
mostly sunburnt and toting too many items to the beach for a day of
fun in the sun. I scan the vendors and that’s when I see my
Isabella talking to one of the jewelry makers. She sees me and waves
as she holds up a shopping bag. Waving back, I decide the cleaning
can wait and join Isabella.

We walk down
the street stopping at each vendor and browsing their unique crafts.
Seeing the excitement on my daughter’s face has made me aware that
leaving Lazzaro was the right decision. Isabella asks questions about
a vendor license and how much it costs to rent a space. Is she
thinking that maybe we can start making and selling jewelry? Sadly,
we’ll need more income than that to live on.

“Are you
thinking of setting up shop under a tent?” I ask.

“No. I was
just making polite conversation.”

“Polite
conversation would be, ‘I love this. How do you make it? What it is
made of?’ Not how do you obtain a vendor’s license. How much is
your monthly rent?’“ I say with a laugh.

“I’m a
young girl who’s curious. Can’t fault me for that.”

“No, I sure
can’t.” I have a feeling there’s more to it than that.

CHAPTER 2

SOPHIA

On the way
back to the apartment, I send Isabella up to the apartment so I can
go into the bookstore to talk to Carly and Beau, if he’s there. We
didn’t set up a time to sign the lease, and I just want them to
know anytime is good for me.

“Hi,
Sophia,” Carly says from behind the counter as she waits on a
customer.

“Hi, Carly.”

The bookstore
is very nice. It’s bright with natural lighting and there’s a
seating area for adults, a few children’s tables and chairs, and
even a self-service coffee bar. The aroma of coffee alone is enough
for me to want to grab a book and a coffee and just relax.

I browse the
quaint shop while Carly finishes up with her customers. This might
not have been the best time to stop in, but I’m glad I did.
Quickly, I see some books from a romance author I love. I didn’t
know her books were being sold in bookstores, I’ve only ever found
them online. I pick the two newest books and gather a couple of art
books for Isabella. I wish I had had Isabella come in with me. She
would like it here. I walk through the children’s book area and see
a tutu set out on a display that looks just like the one her daughter
was wearing at Tony’s market this morning. The tutu is being used
as a prop for children’s ballet/dance books being sold.

When the last
customer leaves, I walk to the register with my purchases. “I’m
sorry. With summer just around the corner, business has been
incredibly busy.”

I place the
books on the counter. “No need to apologize. I’ll take these
books, but I also wanted to see when you wanted me to sign the lease
and pay the rent.”

“What time
is good for you? I’ll be done here around 5 o’clock.”

“Anytime is
good. Isabella and I will be home the rest of the evening.”

A smile forms
on her face. Is it because I called her apartment home? She starts to
ring up the books. “Is the apartment working out for you and
Isabella?”

“It is.
Thank you so much.”

She laughs. “I
should thank you. It sat empty for a long time. I’m glad someone’s
living in it now. In my opinion, the apartment’s too nice to sit
empty.”

“We love it.
The décor, the location, and well, everything about it is
wonderful.”

“Good.
That’s what I like to hear.” She tells me the total of the books
and I pay her with cash. “Do you want me to sign these for you?”
she asks, holding up the two romance books written by Autumn Storm.

Why would I
want Carly Romano to sign Autumn Storm’s books? Only the author of
the book signs the books. The author and maybe the cover model would
at a book signing. Oh. My. God. That’s when it hits me.She’s
Autumn Storm. I try to calm my excitement down before speaking. “You
wrote these books?”

“These and a
few others.”

“You’reAutumn
Storm?” If
she wrote the books, she must be Autumn Storm.

She smiles as
she signs the books. “It’s always great meeting a reader.”

I watch as she
stuffs the books into the sack. I’m more than a reader, but I don’t
say that. I don’t want her to think I’m some nut job who’ll be
stalking her. But now, I’m even more excited than ever to be living
in my favorite author’s rental apartment. Even I know how strange
this sounds, so I’ll be sure to keep my excitement hidden from
everyone. I do find it strange that a preacher’s wife is writing
romance books. Am I stereotyping her? I guess I am, but I still would
have thought the wife of a preacher would write inspirational books
or poetry, although the romance books are clean for the most part.

She hands me
the bag and thanks me again. “Beau will be here when I close. How
about we plan on meeting at 5:30? You can come down here or we can
meet you upstairs.”

“Five-thirty’s
perfect. I still need to get to the bank to open an account. Will
starter checks be okay? If not, I have cash now.”

“Either is
fine with me.”

“Great. I
would like for Isabella to see your shop but maybe after hours isn’t
the best time for that?”

“Are you
kidding? It’s the perfect time. She’ll have the entire place to
herself.”

“Thank you,
for everything.” If I didn’t see it for myself, I would never
believe anyone could be this kind. I take my purchase and walk out
the front door.

~~~

That night,
Isabella and I cook dinner together and then meet Carly and Beau to
sign the lease. I wanted to clean the apartment, but that didn’t
happen. I did make it to the bank to open up a savings and a checking
account.

Later that
night when Isabella’s asleep, I lie in bed and make a list of
things I need to do. I need to call Lazzaro, and I need to move
forward with this divorce. He won’t be happy with me; in fact, I’m
afraid to even call him. He’s a violent man with a short temper.
He’ll be upset that I left and took our daughter with me, and he’ll
be upset that I took half of our money. He got the house and
everything in it, so he should be thankful for that. I guess I could
still get half of that in a divorce settlement.

Instead of
calling him tonight, I decide to wait. I’mbecominga
strong woman, but I don’t feel strong enough to deal with Lazzaro.
Not tonight. I’ll give it another day or two. Maybe I should
consult an attorney first. That might be a good idea. But the only
attorneys I know are our family and business attorneys back home. It
won’t do me any good to contact them; they’re working for Lazzaro
now.

On Friday,
Isabella and I have breakfast outside on the balcony. “Do we have
plans for today?” she asks.

What kind
of plans would we have? We don’t know anyone. I do want to give the
apartment a good cleaning.
“No plans. Why?”

“I thought I
might take my easel and pencils over to the beach, if that’s okay?”

My girl seems
to be adjusting very well here on Seashell Island. “Yes, that’s a
great idea.”

“Good.”

“Are you
planning on sketching anything in particular?”

“No. But you
never know what I’ll find.”

After
breakfast she heads out the door wearing a swimsuit, a cover-up and
sandals, and carrying her easel and art supplies.

“Have fun,”
I say as I watch her walk down the stairs.

“You, too,”
she says, waving as she walks out of sight.

I spend the
next few hours cleaning. It doesn’t take me long to scrub the small
apartment, so I shower and head out looking for Isabella. Maybe we
can have dinner at one of the local restaurants. When I don’t see
her anywhere on the beach or on the main street, I head back to the
apartment. As I walk past the bookstore, I look in the window and see
Isabella inside with her easel set up. She’s sitting down and
there’s a child sitting in front of her. She’s sketching
someone’s child inside our landlord’s place of business. This
can’t be good. She
would have asked Carly for permission first, wouldn’t she? Would
Carly allow my daughter to sketch kids in her bookstore? What would
she gain from that? I stand there and watch through the window as my
daughter laughs and smiles while she does what she loves. She’s now
drawing a small crowd inside the bookstore. My daughter has this
special talent of sketching a person and making him or her look like
a cartoon character. I have no idea where that talent comes from.

A woman and a
little boy walk out of the store holding a piece of sketch paper.
“Jimmy, do you want Mommy to frame this?” she asks the small
child. When he doesn’t answer, she says, “I like it. Let’s go
and buy a frame for it.”

Another
happy customer,I
think to myself as I walk into the well-lit store. Carly greets me
right away. “It just dawned on me this second that maybe I should
have asked you first.” She looks nervous as she’s talking to me.

“I’m
confused. Why would you have to ask me?”

Isabella looks
up at me and smiles.

“Because
when I saw Isabella walking to the beach with her easel, we started
talking and I asked her to come in and sketch some of the kids. Of
course, I’ll pay her and it looks like she’s doing pretty well
with tips, too.”

“You invited
Isabella to draw the kids?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I thought
maybe she invited herself.”

“No, I asked
her. I hope that’s all right?”

“It is. She
looks happy, doesn’t she?”

“She does
and she’s also a natural. Customers love her and her work.”

“How long
has she been here?”

“I think
this is her sixth or seventh sketch. I saw her leaving the apartment
so she’s been here ever since.”

I know she’s
a fast drawer especially when she’s drawing cartoon people. There’s
lots of room for error, but since it’s a cartoon drawing, Isabella
is able to make the errors features, not bugs.

I see a
customer walking up to the counter. “I think I’ll just leave her
to it and walk over to the market for a coffee. I’ll be back in a
bit.”

“Okay,
sounds good. Tony will like that. He gets lonely since his wife
passed away,” she says, walking toward the counter. “If you’re
not back when she’s done, I’ll tell her where you are.”

“Thank you.”

I have coffee
while sitting inside the market. Thanks to the large picture windows,
I can see across the street to the bookstore. As I sit there, I think
back to everything I still need to do. I
can’t sit and stay idle. This isn’t a vacation.
Although moving here was the first step, it was only one step of many
I still need to make. I need to talk to Lazzaro and I need to file
for a divorce. I won’t be truly free until the divorce is final.

I feel anxiety
set in just thinking about calling Lazzaro. He’ll be mad because I
left him and because I took half of the money. He should be grateful
I left the house and everything in it. Of course, I could still get
half of that, too. I know that delaying the call to him isn’t
helping. It’s not like the time I wait will give him time to cool
off. Not with Lazzaro. The more time I stall in contacting him, the
more time his anger has to brew. Maybe I should get an attorney now
and let the attorney contact him on my behalf. It’s not like we
have child support or visitation to discuss, after all, Isabella is
eighteen.

Tony walks
over with a towel wiping off the other tables. Should I ask him for
assistance on locating an attorney? I decide to remove my sunglasses
so I can see him eye to eye. There’s no judgment on his face, just
a look of concern.

“Tony, do
you have a minute?” I ask.

He looks
around the empty store.

He sits down
across from me. I guess he could hear the seriousness in my tone.
“Sure, I have lots of time.” He rests his hands on the table and
interlocks his fingers.

“I’m
looking for an attorney.”

He studies my
face. “Family law?”

“Yes.”

“Will it be
complicated? With assets?”

“Some.” I
don’t tell him I tookthe
cash assetswith
me.

“I know some
attorneys in Charlotte, but I should ask around for better attorneys
on a larger scale. We have a few doctors on the island who may be
more helpful.”

I ponder that
for a minute. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I’m new here
and …”

“I won’t
mention any names. Both doctors have been around and are from
Charlotte. If anyone can help you with finding the right attorney for
your situation, it’s them.”

“Okay, thank
you.”

“Just check
back with me in a day or two.”

He stands from
the table and folds the towel he used to wipe off the tables.

“Thank you.
I will.”

I stand and
walk over to throw away my coffee cup.

“Will I see
you and Isabella at church on Sunday?”

I haven’t
thought that far in advance. I guess since Beau’s the preacher and
we are renting his apartment we should be there. That and we all need
Jesus in our lives.

“Yes, we’ll
be there.”

His smile is
kind and infectious.

“Good. You
both should plan on staying for the potluck afterwards. It’s
something the congregation has every Sunday.”

Potluck? I’m
glad he mentioned that. I’d hate to show up empty handed. “Okay.
We will.”

~~~

Later that
night during dinner, Isabella talks excitedly about her day of
drawing in the book store.

“People here
are so nice. You should have heard what they were saying about my
drawings.” She sits up straighter with more excitement than I’ve
seen in her in a long time. “They loved the cartoons I made of
their kids. People were in line waiting for me to sketch their kids
and they weren’t complaining about the long line or the wait time.
They were happy just watching me work and waiting for their turn.”

“I’m glad
you had a good day, Isabella.”

“I had a
great day, Momma. You know, I was thinking maybe we could buy one of
those tents, apply for a vendor’s license, and I could make some
money for us by sketching people on the island. Carly paid me and I
made more in tips.”

I don’t want
my daughter worrying about money or our finances. “Isabella, let me
worry about the money. I have enough from your poppa that we’ll be
okay for a while.”

“I know, but
I still want to do something to help. Besides, it was so much fun and
I really want to do this.”

I can see the
joy on her beautiful face. “Okay, I think it’s a good idea. But
we need a vendor’s license first.”

“I know,
Momma, and that could take some time.”

After dinner,
Isabella turns in early. After I Google how to apply for a vendor’s
license, I walk around the small apartment looking for something to
do. There’s a fishing pole with a small tackle box that was left in
the apartment. I’ve fished before as a child but it’s been
awhile. Is
ocean fishing different from lake or pond fishing? Surely the fish
would be larger but how much different can it be?

I pick up the
fishing pole and watch as the shiny, silver lure spins. If I were a
fish, I’d bite this.But
I remember asking a friend who ran a sports shop whether fish really
bite the big fancy lures. He said, “Sophia, I don’t sell these to
fish. I sell them to customers who like things that are big and shiny
and fancy.”I
decide this and a beach towel is all I’ll need. I tell Isabella
where I’m going before locking up the apartment and walking across
the street to the beach.

The sound of
the rolling water slapping against the sand is relaxing. The beach is
dark, but the streetlights give enough lighting for me to see. The
beach is nearly empty with a few couples walking along the water’s
edge hand in hand.

I hear music
and see a few tiki torches lit behind the market. There’s a sign
that reads, “Private Beach” so I walk away from the market. I
didn’t see anyone, but it looks like maybe Tony and his wife are
having a private moment. I don’t recall seeing his wife at the
church with him and she wasn’t at the market either time I was
there. Once I think about it, I didn’t see a wedding ring on his
finger either. Then I remember Carly telling me earlier that Tony was
widowed. He could be entertaining a lady friend and if that’s the
case, I don’t want to interrupt.

As I walk
further away from the market, a voice calls out, “Sophia?”

I turn around
and see Tony standing there in shorts and a tee shirt. He’s older
than I am and fit for a man of his age. His dark curly hair is
graying, but it’s not completely gray. He reminds me of a military
man. A soldier; maybe a Marine.

“Hi, Tony,”
I say with a wave.

“Are you
fishing?” he asks, walking closer to me in his bare feet.

“Not yet,
but I plan to.”

“With that?”
he asks, pointing to my fishing pole. His smile is always kind and
friendly.

I look at my
fishing rod. “Yes. Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

“Not if you
want to catch guppies or bluegills.” He laughs and it makes me
laugh. I know guppies and bluegills are small fish. Maybe
the size of the pole or rod does matter.

“Is it that
bad?” I ask. “I found it in the apartment so I assumed it was an
ocean pole.”

“Come with
me,” he says, taking the fishing pole from my hand. “I have one
you can use.”

He turns
around and walks toward the tiki torches. The back of the market
looks like an island retreat.

“I don’t
want to interrupt.”

He stops and
looks at me. “Interrupt what?”

“Your
evening,” I say with a nod of my head.

He looks back
at the market. “Oh, that.” He looks back at me. “It’s just
me. Beauregard and Shorty redid the outdoor space for me a few months
ago. They thought I was spending too much time inside.”

“Are you the
only one who calls him Beauregard?”

“I think I
am. Old habits die hard.”

“And Shorty
is Carly?”

“She is.”

I walk with
him and admire his outdoor living area. “This is nice,” I admit.

“Even I have
to admit it’s a nice place to unwind after a busy day.”

“It’s very
relaxing.”

“I moved
above the market after my wife passed away a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry
to hear that.”

“Thank you.
I couldn’t spend another day in the family home.” He shakes his
head. “Too many memories of my beloved Maria.”

He obviously
cared for her deeply. What do I say to that? I’m
sorry doesn’t
seem like enough.

“We already
owned the market so I moved into the vacant apartment on a whim.”

I stand there
unsure of what I should say. It’s very rarely that I’m
speechless. “Looks like it worked out for you.”